


breathe

by ascientistfortonight



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: ??? probably not tho lol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death, Drowning Mention, M/M, Second Person, Suffocation mention, avoidable death, fucking short af fic but fight me, locus pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 05:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11178360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascientistfortonight/pseuds/ascientistfortonight
Summary: Feel your bones ache where you lie, feel the way your lungs expand, deflate. Feel the pain in your left arm, the numbness in your right.Can you breathe? Have you remembered to inhale?He needs you. Get up.





	breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Hey just a note but this focuses on death. Advanced warning for several drowning mentions and broken bones.  
> Second person, directed at Locus. He is v tired
> 
> This is set immediately after the Tartarus went down in s13.

How long have you been fighting, soldier? Too long, it seems. Hours, weeks, years. You can't help the exhaustion that has long since laced its way into your muscles, your bones, your soul. Too much for too long.

You're tired.

You can admit that to yourself now. The heaviness settles into you as you lay there under the rubble, staring up at hairline cracks of light.

Everything hurts. You think that you might be internally bleeding; it both burns and suffocates you to breathe. Every bit of air you manage to drag into your lungs feels like not enough. You can't feel your right arm. You taste blood.

A sound in your ears, white noise, his voice. You can't call out, simply feel as little by little, he shifts stone and metal off of you. He's hurting too. Even over the ringing and static and noise, you hear his own ragged breath. 

Slowly, weight lifts off you. You can feel the blood returning to your limbs, painful reminders that you're still alive. You made it through this catastrophe. You can taste the air now, smoke and burned metal and sweat.

You're tired.

He doesn't acknowledge that he is too.

He tells you to get up. You don't respond, though manage a groan when he shakes you. Too rough, too rough, be gentle. He stops, either noticing how your arm moved or the wheeze in your breath or the sharp yelp you finally managed through your constricting throat. Knives and fire racing through your body, blissful numbness swept under the rug by every new wave of agony.

He tells you again to get up, and you move. You move because you have to, because he still needs you, because you must protect your partner. You would never put your life on the line for something you deem worthless, but he is far from that. 

You force yourself to sit up despite the pressure in your head, despite the fire and knives. He offers out his right hand and you take it with your left, using his weight to pull yourself up. Push through the pain and lean against him, like he instructs you to do. Notice how he's forced to widen his stance to accommodate your weight and try to stand up straight; you don't help his pain. You can't allow yourself to be a burden to him.

He asks if you can stay standing unaided and you lie. He accepts it and you both carefully separate. You don't quite catch what he says but he's leaving you. Back towards the helicopter, if it's still in one piece. Did he tell you to follow him?

You start to move, one step, two. You don't know how far you've gone but you do know that you're leaning to one side. It's so hard to breathe, you're drowning.

You're drowning.

The realization scares you and suddenly the blood and wheezing makes sense. It's so hard to breathe now. Your eyes close for a bit longer than the standard blink, then close again. You're exhausted.

Your knees soften abruptly under you and you can't stop yourself from falling, sinking to those damned soft knees. The weight of your armor pulls you back and you let it. Your hips ache as the muscles stretch further than they should, but there's not much you can do about that, you think, except let them both lean off to one side. 

You don't know if he noticed. You don't know if you made a sound; your ears are ringing, static, white noise. You're tired. Eyes open. You're not sure what you see, if you're seeing. You know the taste of blood on your tongue, you know you're suffocating. You shift, trying to turn on your side so that maybe you can spit out the blood, let it drain from your lungs. It hurts. It's agonizing. Of course it is. You can feel your shattered ribs shift strangely under your ripped and bruised skin, can feel the blood drip up your torn throat and into your mouth, pooling against your teeth.

You're out of time. You're drowning. You're hurting. You're numb.

You think you hear him shouting for you, or at you. But maybe that's just your dying mind playing tricks.

When you fade, when the spark of flame that is your life finally sputters out, you faintly feel your broken body move, be moved.

You don't know if you remembered to close your eyes.


End file.
